Damn but if the A.M. Mayhem ride didn't come down to a sprint despite numerous efforts by several parties to make it not so. Mr. N-B pointed out that it was, in fact, excellent practice for the skittery March crits, because right as we came into sprinting distance, I got stacked behind some questionable sprint talent and had to roll through the sand and shit on the side of the road. Unfortunately 6-foot tall Miles P. ruined my shot, because he was out to the right and I mistook him for N-B out of the corner of my eye, when in fact the dastard was right behind me. I had to Cuss him, as he came around. Going to spend the next two weeks in deep meditation, mind intensely focused on the Diamond Vajra of 1400 watts. Upon reaching the ninth level of purity of consciousness, I will awaken with the 100 Thighs of Boonen-Ra.
In other news, I have broken down on my two-egg pre-ride diet. I can't look another plate of yellow snot in the eye again for at least a week or so. Damn but it just gets nappy after four or five days in a row to plop down in your bibshorts to a plate of yellow mush that has come from a chicken's vagina. Might have to fall back on almonds, just for the sake of my self-esteem. Where do almonds come from, anyways? Maybe polecats shit them out and migratory workers of Norwegian stock roam the hills of the Dakotas, coming to know individual polecats through their brown, ovoid autoshitographies. Is that possible? Or maybe almonds are vine-based, let's try it out: "Tik-Tik was strangled by a sentient almond vine." Feasible.
Protein good, chicken vadge bad.
